


All Who Were Lost

by LoveChilde



Category: Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Genre: 13th Century CE, Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, Community: purimgifts, Gen, Jews that time forgot, London Below, Young Door
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 19:32:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10197953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveChilde/pseuds/LoveChilde
Summary: Lord Portico takes a very young Door to meet a very strange person and hear a very strange story.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vivien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivien/gifts).



It is a distant memory, no more. Dim, and from low to the ground, which means she is very young still. She holds her father’s hand as he opens a door to a far, far away part of Lower London. Stepping through, she remembers feeling the weight of centuries, of crossing over to a time dusty with forgetfulness, where names and dates lose meaning. She had never been this far below.

An old man welcomes them. He is dressed oddly, but no more so than others Door has seen. His hair is long and curls around his ears, and he wears a cap on his head, that matches the tunic and simple leggings covered by a long dark coat. 

“Ah, Lord Portico!” His accent is odd, but no more odd than others Door has heard. At least he is human, and speaks through a human throat. Behind him, a group of others, dressed much like him, gather and watch, exchanging words in a language Door cannot understand. “And the little one. Hello, little one.” The man bends down to Door’s level, and she remembers glowing under the attention. 

“Reb Yaacov, I have brought her to meet you. To hear your story.” Now Father crouches low, to look her in the eye. “Door, this is a story and a group you need to know. Few come here who are not of our lines, for the true doors that lead here are few, and hidden. It is a way you may need to find again, in the future. Will you listen, and remember?”

“Yes Father.” It is not the first time he takes her on such visits, nor the last, but it is one she remembers, afterward, more sharply than others.

Soon, she is sitting on a rug, surrounded by ragged children in caps, facing old Yaakov, her father standing behind, holding a mug of thin, bitter wine. The children speak quickly, in a language Door almost recognizes. 

“What are they saying?” She was never shy with questions, then. 

“They are wondering at a girl with bare arms, wearing trousers. They have not been outside, do not know the world as you do. Much has changed.” 

She is young still, and not as adept at the languages around her as she will grow to be. Now, she knows that the language is a babbling mix of Middle English, Middle French, Hebrew and Greek, with some Arabic thrown in- never taught to outsiders. Then, it was just noise. 

Without further prompting, Yaakov begins his story. “Once, in the world above- you know the world above, young Door?” She nods. She knows all about the world above, and has visited there twice. It is cold and the light is strange, but she likes it. “So, once, in the world above, there was a king.”

“Was he a wicked king?”

Lord Portico moves to hush her, but Yaakov motions for him to allow it, and smiles. “He was no more or less wicked than most kings. He was vain, and greedy, and in debt. And back then, my people were considered rich. We lent money, you see, at an interest. And we were the only ones making a profit by it, so of course people resented us. We also did not believe in their crucified God, returned from the dead.” He spat to one side. “So they hated us. And the king, he wanted our money and needed a reason to take it from us. We weren’t many, but then, there weren’t all that many people then in all of England.” 

She nods. England is full of people now, Father said, and she thinks he must be talking about very long ago indeed. 

“So, this king. Edward, he was. We did not call him the first, because there had not been a second one yet. His son, now, he was the second. But I let my mind wander…” He trails off, but regroups. “The Scots Hammer, they called him. He was the one who ordered that my people should leave the country, that their possessions and riches were forfeit to the crown. He sent us away.”

“So he _was_ a wicked king?” It is a strange tale, and Door cannot be sure she is following. 

“To us, he was. We left, we had no choice. The people, our neighbours, they let us go. Most of the time, peacefully. But there was one, a ship’s captain, a Frank. He was wicked, he was. He took twenty of our people, took their money, and promised he would take them across the sea. And then he left them stranded in the mist, to drown and be lost. But they did not drown- and if they were lost, it turned out to be for the best.”

“They came here?” She guesses, grinning. All lost things come to London Below, after all. 

“Clever child.” Yaakov smiles back. “They came here, and here they flourished, with others who had been sent away, and later, with those who escaped from other wicked men. All of our people who were lost, came here. Marranos from Sefarad, Italians, Turks. Poles. All of us, the Children of Israel. Here, we thrive. We learn, we teach, we keep the old traditions, and they keep us.”

Door nods. Tradition is important.

“We do not open our doors often, and we do not go out much. But Lord Portico has always been a friend to us, and a welcome guest. As you will be, child, when you visit. This is one of the nights on which our doors are open, the night of the _Seder_. Come, eat and celebrate with us.” 

The food is odd, and the company odder, but no odder than Door has seen, outside this pocket of forgotten time. It is good company, she decides when they are done. She will visit again. 

She never does, though.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Purim! Read more at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edict_of_Expulsion


End file.
